Post by Jessie Lee on Mar 30, 2024 1:05:17 GMT -5
'EEEEEEEEEEEEEY YO!
Here we go!
Another week; another multi-man clusterfuck that the Monday Night Mommy has to shatter the dreams of ALL the little fans of the NINE MUPPETS that are, unfortunately, stuck in the ring with the HOTTEST BISH in the industry TODAY.
Somebody has to make April Fool's Gold worth watching, eh?
Only THIS time, instead of winnin' JUST for BRAGGING RIGHTS, this little song an' dance is a battle royal where the winner is placed into Championship contention.
For what championship, you ask?
Nobody fuckin' knows!
It's a blank fuckin' check where Brady Bolt gets FREE REIGN to place the winner in WHATEVER division REGARDLESS OF SKILL, TALENT, OR IN-RING DRAW.
That sounds about right for guys that NEED a leg up after LOSING as BADLY an' EMBRESSINGLY as THEY DID.
Right, Doc?
Jaice?
Here we go!
Another week; another multi-man clusterfuck that the Monday Night Mommy has to shatter the dreams of ALL the little fans of the NINE MUPPETS that are, unfortunately, stuck in the ring with the HOTTEST BISH in the industry TODAY.
Somebody has to make April Fool's Gold worth watching, eh?
Only THIS time, instead of winnin' JUST for BRAGGING RIGHTS, this little song an' dance is a battle royal where the winner is placed into Championship contention.
For what championship, you ask?
Nobody fuckin' knows!
It's a blank fuckin' check where Brady Bolt gets FREE REIGN to place the winner in WHATEVER division REGARDLESS OF SKILL, TALENT, OR IN-RING DRAW.
That sounds about right for guys that NEED a leg up after LOSING as BADLY an' EMBRESSINGLY as THEY DID.
Right, Doc?
Jaice?
It was a start.
A VERY GOOD start.
March Madness had come and gone and the four-man group that our beloved Dommy Mommy had been on had emerged victorious despite Vespertine's best efforts to the contrary. As fantastic as winning was, she couldn't help but feel bittersweet over it. What had been accomplished other than temporarily gaining bragging rights for the next month or two? Maybe she was feeling that "Championship sickness" already, but Jessie couldn't help but feel unfulfilled for the effort she had given carrying her three partners to victory on that night in Calgary.
But hey; the upcoming ten-man Contendership Battle Royal could help, right?
'Will it though? Despite your boy toy's lovey-dovey shit, you're quite the miserable cunt.'
Then there was THIS asshole. She was hallucinating, she was sure of it, but as the days marched on this negative passenger of hers was harder to ignore. Even now, as she was getting cleaned up after a rigorous workout at a local Henderson gym, the twisted reflection was clawing at her from the inside out.
'C'mon, KILLER, where's that fire ya had last week? Pissed out already?'
"Oh, shut the fuck up," she snapped "I ain't sure what you're playin' at but nothin's fuckin' changed."
'Except the names an' faces, right? But that shit ya brought last time ain't gonna be enough. Not when those nine cucks are lookin' to steal what's yours.'
"Like fuckin' hell they are! They haven't put in NEARLY as much WORK as I have. I'm the bloody fuckin' WORKHORSE."
'Maybe not ankle-biters like Burger Queen, Vanilla Ice Junior, or the forgettable third wheel of Roman Gunn's goof troupe but there are still threats like your former partner.'
"Doc? Yeah, his little run with the United States strap was neat, but the hell did he accomplish?"
'That he could hold the belt longer than thirty days an' beat Odin?'
"Yeah, well I've beaten Odin before an' he lost the strap to Cedrone; Captain Generic himself. So I'd say he hardly accomplished shit after he went after Odin like a bastard desperate for his long-lost daddy approval. Fuckin' sad."
'What 'bout that Jaice fella? He was just fightin' for the World strap.'
"What about him?" she snorted in disapproval "Not only did he not EARN his spot but he has the very real problem of choking on the cock of his ego when it's time to nut up. He might be considered some kind of Suicide Saint to some neckbeards, but he ain't any different from the other self-indulgent cuckolds that I've put down before."
But Jessie, I hear you ask, how are you going to contend with nine mangy apes battling for the mystery banana? How will you follow up the eight-man tag victory YOU SECURED at March Madness over the Might DRAUGR, Vespertine, Karlie Nash, and Jody Madrox?
How?
How!
HOW?!
Easy bish, by throwin' hands Godzilla style an' showing these brain-dead Kongs what FALSE KINGS ARE TO GOD.
Now let’s fuckin’ go!
How?
How!
HOW?!
Easy bish, by throwin' hands Godzilla style an' showing these brain-dead Kongs what FALSE KINGS ARE TO GOD.
Now let’s fuckin’ go!
'So you say, but what 'bout the others? Got some plan for them?'
"Yeah," she breathed before slipping on her Motionless In White band tank top "Show 'em what it's like to stand in MY WAY; make 'em feel just how OUT-GUNNED they really are when they're in that ring WITH ME."
"~Oooooooooooh~ big words from someone that got her ass knocked out a few weeks ago!' the passenger in her head cackled gleefully as if it scored some bullseye. In truth, it had and it full well knew it. Micheal and Jackie had told her not to take the loss personally time and again, but the sense of regret weighed heavily on her soul. She KNEW she had him and that the World Championship was just a fingertip away, but it had all crumbled in one ill-timed moment. It was that bitter regret that had fuelled her focus going into March Madness, but would it be the same going into the April Fool's Gold edition of Monday Night Clash?
She didn't have an answer to that question.
However, she knew that she'd fucking KILL the nine others if that's what it took to win.
She NEEDED it.
Sensing its host's desperation, the creature in her head cackled like a madwoman as it slowly faded to the sound of her phone's ringtone echoing. Not bothering to check the ID, Jessie quickly answered.
"Hey, Micheal," she said tenderly "How's it goin'?"
"Well," answered the voice on the other end that clearly wasn't her boyfriend "I'd have to say that it's going, but I'm not sure I appreciate your tone. It feels....weird."
"Craig," she hissed "I wasn't aware that you'd be callin' or if I even remembered."
"Now, Miss Lee," Craig replied defensively "I know it's been a while, but how could you think you had been forgotten? You're VERY IMPORTANT to Mister King and his plans for Tailor Made For Greatness, after all."
in the back of her head, a voice continued cackling.
Job Squad!
Patty, Isara, an' Fredster Junior!
Even though I could call ALL NINE of you scrubs the Job Squad, you THREE are at the BOTTOM of the shit pile. I know I said Karlie Nash's existence here in Action Wrestling was pointless, but you three? You scum-suckers take the cake in the category of being forgettable BODIES that are only in this to be dumped as soon as possible. You might be hungry to prove yourselves worthy of a championship opportunity, but the reality is that you're BARELY WORTHY of the unemployment line. Don't worry though, bein' ELIMINATED BY ME will give your name enough shine to collect those checks.
TJ Alexander!
Don't think 'cause I didn't add you in on that three-man fail fest that you're a step above fuck-knuckles like THEM. If anything, you're WORSE. Time an' time again you're GIVEN OPPORTUNITIES to SHOW ~TO REALLY SHOW~ what you're made of in that ring. An' yet, OVER AN' OVER AGAIN all you SHOW anyone is just how OUT OF DEPTH you are here in Action Wrestling. You might be a world-traveled athlete with championship prospects everywhere else, but HERE all you are is a menu item to be served up to whichever lizard-brained bitch is firin' on ALL CYLINDERS.
PSSST!
I'm THAT Bad Bitch.
Now do what you do best an' GROVEL at my feet and BEG ME to make you bitch-ass FAMOUS.
Just don't end up like Doc though; bein' BLINDED by ARRONORANCE an' UNFOUNDED EGO is a fuckin' KILLER, ain't it Mister Wannabe Warmonger?
I know, I know; you're gonna come at me with the ol' "yOu NeVeR bEaT sItCoM aNd I bEaT oDiN" train of thought an' that's not somethin' I can deny. However, YOU NEVER WENT AFTER SITCOM AFTER HE PUNKED YOU OUT AND I'VE BEATEN ODIN TOO. So guess what, buttercup? That ain't the flex you're thinkin' it is, nor is the win over TFK; nice try though, ya desperate cunt. However, WHAT IS a FLEX is that I've BEATEN YOU when you last stepped to me in this ring. Fuck, I ain't even gonna mention the fact that I was a BETTER Television Champion that you were!
Whoopsie!
Guess I did anyway!
Oh well, THAT just means I gotta go harder an' make you forget those EMBRESSMENTS with the new one where I ELIMINATE your comedically delusional ass by ONCE AGAIN showing you what war ACTUALLY is between those ropes; exposing your Bobbie Badass persona for the Betsy Bitchass you've ALWAYS BEEN.
OOF!
None of that hurt your DELICATE SENSIBILITIES did it, Lexi Sparkles?
Naaaaaaaah! You're Ragin' Dead's Second Generation Seed that, much like EVERY multi-gen cunt, is lookin' to make a name for themself outside of their parent's sphere; even though you use their names as a CRUTCH to make you SEEM CREDIBLE. Here's a news flash for ya, Sparklebutt, you AIN'T SERENITY HOLMES an' that's going to be a VERY PAINFUL reality I'm going to be driving home into that dense skull of yours. 'Cause as DETERMINED an' WELL-TRAINED you THINK you are the fact is that there is a fuckin' thing you can do Monday Night to keep me from winnin' the Battle Royal. You aren't as fierce as your pa was an' I've already SLAIN your Granddaddy TWICE now.
You're just fuckin' CANNON FODDER.
But hey, at least I know you're gonna show up to the Dollar Loan Center, unlike a certain fake-ass Mob Boss Plumber.
Right, Muru?
I'd say "You're welcome" for rippin' his ass so bad over the internet that the little bish didn't show up to March Madness, but it isn't like you CAPITALIZED on that little spot of luck; now did ya? Nope! Instead, you let some outdated Monty Python sketch ruin the momentum you got from beatin' DRAUGR an' now you're stuck lookin' down the barrel of ANOTHER LOSS you won't have control over. You might be the high-flyin' grizzled vet version of Tj Alexander, but that ain't gonna save you from what I'm fixin' to do to each of goofy fucks as I ascend to the winner's circle for the second time in as many weeks.
I'm droppin' the BOOM on your generic wrinkly ass an' leavin' with a career as LAUGHABLE as Jaice Wilds'.
I know your masculinity is so fuckin' FRAGILE that ya can't face it, but that's EXACTLY what you ARE Jaice. Week in an' week out you vomit the same hollow promises of climbin' to the top that even the "It's Jaice Wilds in a mask" meme has become so tired that it WILLINGLY BURIED itself 'cause it didn't wanna be associated with you anymore. You're like the twenty-four-hour flu; at first, you do a real number on someone, but within a few hours just shit bein' flushed by a SERIOUS COMPETITOR looking to do what you DREAM of doing.
Be a fuckin' THREAT.
Fuckin' hell, my common sense-challenged victim, even the MYSTERY OPPONENT is more of a THREAT than you've EVER been to anyone! Corey Black ain't here to keep you relevant an' after Monday Night, when I dump your pathetic ass out of that ring, you go back to being that irrelevant piece of shit you were for the last FIVE YEARS.
BUH-BYE bish; hope to NEVER see you in my ring again!
Last, and certainly LEAST, we've gone the super secret mystery twat that has the pleasure of getting their ass pegged an' dumped by ME as I devastate the competition on my way BACK to Action Wrestling Championship glory. I don't know who you'll be an', honestly, I couldn't give less of a fuck than I do right now. You might be a big ol' meaty strong boi or some nasty vile motherfucker that ain't afraid to pop a bish's eyeball out their socket, but once you step into THAT ring ~MY RING~ Monday Night everythin' that you THOUGHT you were goes out the fuckin' window an' you're nothin' more than just ANOTHER BODY GETTIN' BODIED by the Dommy Mommy.
Motherfuckers, this Aussie's got that GOJIRA GLOW an' she's goin' ATOMIC on her way to the TOP!
Patty, Isara, an' Fredster Junior!
Even though I could call ALL NINE of you scrubs the Job Squad, you THREE are at the BOTTOM of the shit pile. I know I said Karlie Nash's existence here in Action Wrestling was pointless, but you three? You scum-suckers take the cake in the category of being forgettable BODIES that are only in this to be dumped as soon as possible. You might be hungry to prove yourselves worthy of a championship opportunity, but the reality is that you're BARELY WORTHY of the unemployment line. Don't worry though, bein' ELIMINATED BY ME will give your name enough shine to collect those checks.
TJ Alexander!
Don't think 'cause I didn't add you in on that three-man fail fest that you're a step above fuck-knuckles like THEM. If anything, you're WORSE. Time an' time again you're GIVEN OPPORTUNITIES to SHOW ~TO REALLY SHOW~ what you're made of in that ring. An' yet, OVER AN' OVER AGAIN all you SHOW anyone is just how OUT OF DEPTH you are here in Action Wrestling. You might be a world-traveled athlete with championship prospects everywhere else, but HERE all you are is a menu item to be served up to whichever lizard-brained bitch is firin' on ALL CYLINDERS.
PSSST!
I'm THAT Bad Bitch.
Now do what you do best an' GROVEL at my feet and BEG ME to make you bitch-ass FAMOUS.
Just don't end up like Doc though; bein' BLINDED by ARRONORANCE an' UNFOUNDED EGO is a fuckin' KILLER, ain't it Mister Wannabe Warmonger?
I know, I know; you're gonna come at me with the ol' "yOu NeVeR bEaT sItCoM aNd I bEaT oDiN" train of thought an' that's not somethin' I can deny. However, YOU NEVER WENT AFTER SITCOM AFTER HE PUNKED YOU OUT AND I'VE BEATEN ODIN TOO. So guess what, buttercup? That ain't the flex you're thinkin' it is, nor is the win over TFK; nice try though, ya desperate cunt. However, WHAT IS a FLEX is that I've BEATEN YOU when you last stepped to me in this ring. Fuck, I ain't even gonna mention the fact that I was a BETTER Television Champion that you were!
Whoopsie!
Guess I did anyway!
Oh well, THAT just means I gotta go harder an' make you forget those EMBRESSMENTS with the new one where I ELIMINATE your comedically delusional ass by ONCE AGAIN showing you what war ACTUALLY is between those ropes; exposing your Bobbie Badass persona for the Betsy Bitchass you've ALWAYS BEEN.
OOF!
None of that hurt your DELICATE SENSIBILITIES did it, Lexi Sparkles?
Naaaaaaaah! You're Ragin' Dead's Second Generation Seed that, much like EVERY multi-gen cunt, is lookin' to make a name for themself outside of their parent's sphere; even though you use their names as a CRUTCH to make you SEEM CREDIBLE. Here's a news flash for ya, Sparklebutt, you AIN'T SERENITY HOLMES an' that's going to be a VERY PAINFUL reality I'm going to be driving home into that dense skull of yours. 'Cause as DETERMINED an' WELL-TRAINED you THINK you are the fact is that there is a fuckin' thing you can do Monday Night to keep me from winnin' the Battle Royal. You aren't as fierce as your pa was an' I've already SLAIN your Granddaddy TWICE now.
You're just fuckin' CANNON FODDER.
But hey, at least I know you're gonna show up to the Dollar Loan Center, unlike a certain fake-ass Mob Boss Plumber.
Right, Muru?
I'd say "You're welcome" for rippin' his ass so bad over the internet that the little bish didn't show up to March Madness, but it isn't like you CAPITALIZED on that little spot of luck; now did ya? Nope! Instead, you let some outdated Monty Python sketch ruin the momentum you got from beatin' DRAUGR an' now you're stuck lookin' down the barrel of ANOTHER LOSS you won't have control over. You might be the high-flyin' grizzled vet version of Tj Alexander, but that ain't gonna save you from what I'm fixin' to do to each of goofy fucks as I ascend to the winner's circle for the second time in as many weeks.
I'm droppin' the BOOM on your generic wrinkly ass an' leavin' with a career as LAUGHABLE as Jaice Wilds'.
I know your masculinity is so fuckin' FRAGILE that ya can't face it, but that's EXACTLY what you ARE Jaice. Week in an' week out you vomit the same hollow promises of climbin' to the top that even the "It's Jaice Wilds in a mask" meme has become so tired that it WILLINGLY BURIED itself 'cause it didn't wanna be associated with you anymore. You're like the twenty-four-hour flu; at first, you do a real number on someone, but within a few hours just shit bein' flushed by a SERIOUS COMPETITOR looking to do what you DREAM of doing.
Be a fuckin' THREAT.
Fuckin' hell, my common sense-challenged victim, even the MYSTERY OPPONENT is more of a THREAT than you've EVER been to anyone! Corey Black ain't here to keep you relevant an' after Monday Night, when I dump your pathetic ass out of that ring, you go back to being that irrelevant piece of shit you were for the last FIVE YEARS.
BUH-BYE bish; hope to NEVER see you in my ring again!
Last, and certainly LEAST, we've gone the super secret mystery twat that has the pleasure of getting their ass pegged an' dumped by ME as I devastate the competition on my way BACK to Action Wrestling Championship glory. I don't know who you'll be an', honestly, I couldn't give less of a fuck than I do right now. You might be a big ol' meaty strong boi or some nasty vile motherfucker that ain't afraid to pop a bish's eyeball out their socket, but once you step into THAT ring ~MY RING~ Monday Night everythin' that you THOUGHT you were goes out the fuckin' window an' you're nothin' more than just ANOTHER BODY GETTIN' BODIED by the Dommy Mommy.
Motherfuckers, this Aussie's got that GOJIRA GLOW an' she's goin' ATOMIC on her way to the TOP!